our ancestors respected their kind domicile
Mother Earth’s abundant refuge
light, birdsong, their time pieces
a morning musk offered forecast
rustling leaves identifying the day’s temper
animal moments framed seasons
of waste nothing
of use all
then all torn asunder
nearly obliterated:
language, ritual, spirituality
in near total genocide
yet
yet
a great spirit awakens
as Mother Earth weeps
for her children
telling us all is not lost
we only need
recover the old ways
in healing, we will thrive
